Andalon Arises

by T B Phillips

  Shock filled her face. “So, he sold only the estate and that was large enough to make the buyer a Viscount?”

  Lord Valencia nodded like a proud schoolteacher. “My dear Mrs. Pogue,” he explained, “Stefan Nevra still owns a very profitable estate in Cargia.”

  “Define profitable.”

  “His empire is the center of all trade for the entire continent. He receives taxes on the docks, the warehouses, inspection of goods and the transportation of talent.”

  Mattie felt her stomach drop and she swayed with vertigo. “That monster controls the economy of the entire southern continent?”

  “Not entirely. I still control a sizable portion. But yes, between myself and Stefan we steer the economy of our continent.” He waved his hand dismissively, his eyes suddenly betraying some regret over holding the conversation. Mattie realized that it was improper to discuss these money matters with his steward. “Now, that will be all, Mrs. Pogue. Make sure that everything is in order and ready for the feast.”

  “Yes, My Lord.” She bowed and was about to leave when he cleared his throat.

  “And I want you to purchase attire for your daughters that is suitable for the occasion. With any luck we can find them work as ladies in waiting for some daughters of the other lords.”

  She paused and cocked her head with suspicion. “You want to sell off my daughters, Lord Valencia?”

  “Not at all.” He smiled softly like a caring father reassuring his child, “I want to ensure that they can rise in station, much as you have, Mrs. Pogue. As the daughters of my steward, they deserve the opportunity to become more than scullery maids.” Another thought crossed his mind and he added, “Who knows, maybe one of the lords will take a liking to one of them and promote her to consort.”

  Mattie stifled a gasp, but smiled disarmingly. “I will pass that hope on to the girls.”

  “Also…” His face puckered and voice broke off as he considered something sour.

  “Yes, My Lord?”

  “Make sure that, on the night of the dinner party, you and your daughters stay inside the manor house. Do not wander far from the main hall.”

  “Why is that, My Lord?”

  “Just ensure that you remain close. I have taken a liking to you, Mrs. Pogue, and want to keep you safe.”

  Keep me prisoner, you mean? She bowed slightly and then headed back to check on the kitchen staff. There was still so much to prepare, she thought, Stop taking so long and rescue us, Alec!

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Shon Wembley watched the refugees with growing disappointment. He had hoped the scouting reports were wrong, but his eyes confirmed they were mostly women, children, and elderly.

  Marque shared his concern. “They’re going to be a burden until we can ship them south.”

  “Aye. That they will.”

  “At least the woman holding a bow looks like she can actually use it.” With a smile he added, “If she can hit a target the lot isn’t a total loss.”

  “Be honest. You’re interested in her for other reasons.” Shon offered his friend an approving nod, “Although, I’ll admit that she’s nice to look at.”

  “I’d rather stare at a pretty girl than your ugly mug.” Marque pointed at a cart pulled by a teenage boy and a girl. “That old woman has got to be eighty or ninety summers, at least!”

  The woman with the bow exchanged words with a scout then spoke to the teens. She pointed at Shon and they began walking toward him. The ancient woman riding in the cart stared him down as they neared. “Marque. You talk to them, I’m not in the mood to deal with beggars.

  “It was your idea to invite them.”

  “Aye, but at the time I’d hoped they’d be useful.” He turned to make his exit when the old woman called out, “Mr. Wembley!”

  Shit, he thought, damned scouts told her my name. He put on a fake smile and faced the group expectantly. “What can I do for you, Mother?”

  “Why are you gathering emotants?” The question wiped the smile from his face and replaced it with a look of shock. “Close your mouth! You look like a buffoon,” she ordered.

  “How did you know that we’re gathering emotants?” His eyes darted to the teenagers and back to the old woman hopefully.

  “These youngsters each received a missive and were told to come to this place. What I want to know is where is Samani Kernigan?” She made a show of looking around then added, “Because when I find him, I’m going to drag him out by his ear.”

  Shon finally found his voice and responded, “He isn’t here, Mother. He’s currently in The Cove planning our next move against the crown.”

  “So, he isn’t just aiding revolutionaries, he’s leading them?” To the woman with the bow she added, “He’s violated every code by which we’ve lived our entire lives.” Her companion nodded her agreement. “How many emotants have you recruited and what are you using them for?”

  “That’s sensitive information, Mother. I don’t even know your name.”

  “Tell Samani that Pearl has arrived. This beautiful woman your friend is ogling is named Madelyn and the children are Johan and Kali.” She stepped down from the cart with a hand from the boy. “Show me your emotants.”

  Next to Shon, Marque laughed hysterically, causing Wembley to turn. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “You said that you wanted them to be useful. I’d say you can retire and let her run the entire show. You’ve finally met your match, Boss!”

  Shon punched his friend in the arm then gestured to the newcomers. “This way, Mother. I’ll show you everything.”

  Kali and the others followed the man named Shon to a group of buildings on the northern edge of town. She immediately noticed eight teens standing in a clearing between the buildings. The oldest gave an order and a whirlwind spun through the field. He gave another and the vortex split into eight separate funnels. Kali squeezed Johan’s hand and whispered, “Air!”

  Wembley overheard and responded, “Yes, so far that’s all we’ve found. What’s your specialty?”

  “You’re assuming we’re emotants.”

  Shon winked back and pointed at thumb at Pearl. “She already said that you were, dearie.”

  Kali rolled her eyes and responded, “I’m able to do things with plants and the ground.”

  Abruptly a black bear ambled out of the grove of trees on their left.

  Marque lifted his bow, but Shon stepped in front. “Lower it and watch,” he said.

  The animal approached and then reared up on its hind legs. Shon started forward and placed his hand on its paw. “Beautiful animal, Kali. Have you bonded with her long?”

  “Oh, I’m not bonded with her. I’m bonded with that fox over there.” Wembley’s eyes grew wide in shock as the bear roared into his face. He stumbled backward and fell, scooting away in terror as Marque again lifted his bow. Kali’s childish laughter froze both men in their tracks and they watched the giant beast nuzzle against the girl’s chest. “That was too easy! You guys are funny!” After she had laughed at their expense, her face turned thoughtful. “How did you know I could bond with her?”

  “My niece shares the same powers and is bound to a wolf. Can you also make the ground quake?”

  “I haven’t tried that, but I can do this.” She pointed at the grove of trees and the party turned. Three tall pines ripped their roots from the dirt and began dancing around in the meadow, spinning with elegant pirouettes. After a few moments they bowed to the onlookers and returned to their beds.

  Pearl, who had quietly watched the exchange, let out a low whistle and remarked, “Now that’s impressive.”

  By now the other teenagers had noticed the newcomers. They hurried over and Shon made introductions, pausing at Johan. “What’s your power?”

  “Water. I can’t really show you right now.” He gestured around the meadow. �
�I’ve nothing to draw from.”

  “Actually, you can do quite a bit. Can you sense the creek flowing in the east?”

  Johan closed his eyes and concentrated. When he finally opened them, a plume of water shot westward, spraying the buildings like a fountain in a market square.

  “Great work! We’ve got some other ideas for you as well. Braen Braston has worked out quite a few combinations that you can try with the other emotants.” He motioned to a taller girl in the group. “Beth, why don’t you show them the barracks get them settled in?” With a grin he added, “You should introduce them to Akili.” The girl smiled broadly at his suggestion and shuffled the others toward a long building. After they had left, Shon addressed the old woman. “How do you know Samani Kernigan?”

  The lines of wisdom on the old woman’s face deepened as she considered old memories. “I mentored him and brought him to Andalon more than twenty years ago.”

  “So, it’s true, then?” He turned his eyes to the children playing tag in the field. “He really is from the other continent?”

  “He’s told you truthfully.”

  “Why?” Wembley had struggled internally with this question since meeting the man. “Why is he here and what’s his goal?”

  “He and I are part of The Humanitarian Freedom Society. I recruited him over thirty years ago out of the Winter Oracle. I brought him and another young recruit to Andalon, where we’ve worked our mission.”

  “What exactly is your mission, Mother?”

  “We were to blend in and observe your people for signs of a fulfilled prophecy.” Worry crept into the old woman’s eyes. “But from the sound of things, he’s no longer observing and has progressed to interference.”

  “You’ve been expecting the emotants to emerge for more than twenty years? Why observe if you’ve no intention of exploiting their powers? At least Samani is aiding our cause for the greater good of Andalon.”

  She rounded on the former constable, suddenly less feeble and more intimidating than before. “Our prophecies foretell the coming of a destroyer who will destroy the world.”

  “Ours or yours?”

  “Mostly ours, but there are many of us who believe that his destruction will affect all the continents.” She sighed and slumped down, again looking tired and old. “Both of my protégé’s were young and overly passionate about their role in Andalon. We later disagreed on key doctrines.”

  “Like what?”

  “They had a different view of The Destroyer’s role.”

  “And what was their belief?”

  Rustling of leaves caused them both to turn as two women emerged from the woods. The older of the two stared intently at Pearl who responded with a gasp. “Fatwana Nakala?”

  “Continue your story, Perlana. Just what exactly is my brother’s belief regarding The Destroyer?”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Captain Frederique Titus had died, of that he was sure. Vivid memories remained of the jaguar ripping at his flesh and drenching him in blood, both his own and that of his men. He also remembered the ground falling away beneath him and hitting the water below. But he had blacked out when stones and debris rained down. At one point in the sewer drain he had come to, gagging on filthy water and counting himself lucky that he had not inhaled and flooded his lungs. But he vaguely remembered feeling the unmistakable burn within his chest as if he had.

  He coughed and sputtered on the beach, spewing rancid water on the sand. Every time his body convulsed to push out the fluid, his temples crushed his brain like a vice. Flashes of light behind his eyes reminded the military officer that he was again living, even if he had wished otherwise. He finally fell in a heap and allowed his body to slip again from consciousness.

  When he eventually decided to rejoin the awakened world, Titus found two men casting shadows over his body. “Looks like a Captain from what’s left of his uniform, Sarge.”

  The second man asked, “Are you sure about that? There’s not much left of it or him.”

  “Positive, Sarge,” the first man responded, “that makes two officers in two days.”

  “Who?” Titus tried to stand but his legs weren’t ready. He collapsed in the sand face first.

  “Don’t try to walk, Caps. We’ve sent some privates for a litter. We’ll get you back to camp.” The man called Sarge knelt down beside him and asked him the question he feared, “But first, we need to know what side of the war you’re on.”

  Caution urged him to silence, to only state his name and rank as he was trained. “I am Frederique Titus, Captain in the true Esterling army.”

  The enlisted men shared a laugh before Sarge asked, “Which Esterling army, Mate? Right now, that makes all the difference in the world.”

  Titus suddenly realized that he no longer cared if he lived or died by their hand, especially since he was confident that he had already passed. He responded with assertion, “The true king, His Royal Highness Robert Esterling.” He again passed out, this time from the effort of speaking the words.

  When he awoke the third time, he found himself laid out upon a cot within a tidy military tent. Several soldiers passed by the opening, but no guards appeared to linger outside. They must not believe me to be much of a threat in my current state, he reasoned. Pain radiated from his right eye. He felt along his face with cautious fingers, gingerly touching the bandages around his head. Someone had placed extra packing around that eye, so he assumed the trauma had been significant.

  His stomach growled as he moved into a sitting position, and he suddenly realized how hungry a dead man could feel. Looking around he spied a bowl of stew left out on the ground next to him. He gave in to the appetite and devoured the contents without tasting. It went in and stayed down easily.

  Belly full, the captain rose from the cot and stretched his sore and aching muscles. They were especially painful where the large cat had bit his shoulder. He pressed on the wound, palpitating and checking for infection. Finding it surprisingly clean and healing well, he tried his luck by stepping outside. Several men sat around a campfire, cooking a stew and laughing about former exploits. All soldiers are the same, he reasoned, and these men have obviously been together for many seasons.

  One of them, appearing older and more battle-worn than the rest, gestured at Titus as he approached. “Get in order, the officer’s awake.”

  Another of the men laughed but pointed at the bowl. “Hand that to me, sir, and I’ll give you seconds.”

  “Thank you, that would be nice.” Looking around the camp, Titus counted tents, estimating that the force was easily over two thousand men. He felt confusion rush in. “I see no banners, for whom do you march?”

  The man he now recognized as Sarge responded with a chuckle, “For us, mostly. And also, for the future of Andalon.”

  “Deserters?” Titus had no tolerance for men who left their posts, considering them little more than highwaymen.

  “You can say that, sir. But we like the term defectors. It better suits our consciences.”

  A glimmer of hope rose in the officer’s chest, “So, you ride for King Robert?”

  “Not yet, but we hope that he’ll accept us. Now that we have you and the general with us, the Major thinks we’ll stand a better chance.”

  “General?” Shock mixed with hope as he asked, “Which general?” He had no idea if his commanding officer had survived, but he prayed that the sergeant would speak the name.

  Before the soldier could respond, a gruff voice called out from behind, “Captain Titus!”

  He turned slowly, disappointed that Merrimac Lourdes was in the camp instead of Reeves. He once again hoped that his mentor hadn’t perished in the attack. “General Lourdes!” He proffered a sharp salute, despite the pain that wracked his shoulder.

  “Join us!” He gestured toward a young officer in a crisp uniform standing beside him. “We hav
e some planning to do. When Robert returns, we’re going to end this war once and for all.”

  Merrimac Lourdes quickly briefed Captain Titus. “So, they marched back to Soston and left only a small cadre behind for city defense.”

  “How many is small?”

  “Roughly fifteen hundred.”

  “We’ve two thousand and could easily handle a force that size. But how many emotants stayed behind?”

  “That’s the thing,” the old general explained, “it appears they left none.” He pointed at a spot on the map. “Major Smythe here scouted them at this location. They were camped along the road and were clearly on their way back to Soston.”

  “I can’t say they didn’t leave any Jaguars behind, but it’s hard to tell when they ride in those covered wagons. I know for sure that they left with nineteen Falconers.”

  “The original count was twenty.”

  The major looked up, hopeful. “Maybe the king killed one of them?”

  Something about the conversation jogged the captain’s memory and he searched the events of the battle for the missing information. He vaguely recalled a female Falconer, but couldn’t remember her fate. “It’s possible.”

  Mac continued, “I’m assuming they left one or two surprises in Eskera. They wouldn’t want to hand it back over to Robert after all the trouble they went through taking it.” Both junior officers nodded their agreement. “But let’s say that the city forces are all conventional. That would open up the possibility that we can be inside the walls when Robert returns.”

  Titus stiffened at the general’s optimism. The man usually tore apart every contingency of a plan before acting. He felt that he should urge caution, “The collapsed sections of the wall were localized. I’m sure they’ll have it well fortified.”

  The smile on Lourdes’ face was distinctly out of character when he answered, “But we won’t besiege the city.”